


Prompt Me or Tempt Me Tumblr Fic 02: Tequila

by LupusScintilla (inkandblade)



Series: Prompt Me or Tempt Me [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Magic Stiles Stilinski, Not Beta Read, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandblade/pseuds/LupusScintilla
Summary: From a prompt byrubyredhoodling:Stiles is used to his friend living in the apartment below him. He's still a little tipsy and forgets that death eyebrows Derek moved in downstairs, and breaks into Derek's place so he can make a greasy carb-loaded breakfast to share.





	Prompt Me or Tempt Me Tumblr Fic 02: Tequila

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubyredhoodling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubyredhoodling/gifts).



Stiles was being very quiet. Very, very quiet—as if he was hunting waaaaabits. He stifled a snort and felt his magic tingle out into his nose and fingers and feet to help muffle the sounds he was making. The floor in Jackson’s living area, unlike Stiles’ in the apartment above, was polished wood. Stiles slipped his shoes off and almost fell over as he bent down to put them as neatly as he could near the door. Jackson had a strict no shoes in the house rule.

Luckily he also had a  _Stiles makes the best breakfasts on the planet_  rule, and kept his fridge stocked accordingly. Who could say no to their handsome, magic upstairs-neighbour making them a handsome, magic breakfast on a Sunday morning?

Actually, someone who’d pulled last night could: Stiles screwed up his eyes and thought very carefully and reached his magic out towards the bedroom… Just one heartbeat. He managed to stop himself from crowing, ‘All is clear!’

Stiles couldn’t resist sliding in his socks towards the kitchen, though. He collided with the counter top with a resounding oomph. He didn’t manage to retain his snort this time, but he was pretty sure the sound didn’t travel; a Spark was an awesome thing to have when trying to hide your tipsy shenanigans—no matter how delicious—from a grumpy werewolf.

Stiles pulled the one of the blinds out a bit and saw that there was a tiny slip of sunlight just showing through the long lines of the high rises outside. He turned around and focused very carefully on the clock on the microwave. He had approximately fifty-five minutes to make his mom’s from-scratch hash browns, bacon, and chocolate-chip pancakes. The coffee machine for some reason looked different to the last time Stiles had broken in to cook breakfast, but it was set to the usual time.

Jackson was going to loooooooooove Stiles to the moooooon and back.

Stiles didn’t even try to stifle his giggles this time.

He did what he had to with the potatoes and extra fancy cheese, figured that the super-duper sourdough would make super-wonderful toast, and mixed a little extra something-something into the pancake batter in the form of a pick-me-up spell. Even if Jackson hadn’t had a big night last night, and even if he was still a bit of a prick, he worked hard. Even assholes deserved nice surprises sometimes. Stiles’ mom had always said that being kind didn’t hurt anyone.

Stiles set everything in the fridge to keep—naked as the Saran wrap wasn’t in its usual spot—then put his ass on one of Jackson’s stupid, designer kitchen stools and his head on the marble bench-top. It was far, far more comfortable than usual. Ten or fifteen minutes worth of sleep wasn’t enough, but it would do for now.

**♠**

The growl was expected, but didn’t sound right. Stiles opened his eyes and blinked into the morning sun and was certain that Jackson would have told him if he’d become an Alpha in the last couple of weeks. They hadn’t seen each other since the beginning of the month, but hell, that wasn’t the kind of thing you kept from someone who relatively-regularly broke into your kitchen.

It might have been the Alpha in the voice that cinched Stiles’ understanding, though. “Who the fuck are you?!”

But, really was it the voice? It was probably that this guy was, and no offence to Jackson ‘cause even if he was hot, and he was, he had nothing on this guy. Stiles sucked in a breath and tried to make his thoughts come back to something that resembled coherent. The hot Alpha in front of him was wearing designer jockey-shorts and a murderous scowl. It was entirely possible that Stiles was still quite drunk, because both of those things seemed absurdly sexy.

Stiles tried for a smooth introduction, but all that came out of his mouth was a squeak. The werewolf’s eyebrows rose in tandem and all of a sudden Stiles understood. He sat back a little too quickly and was lucky that the wards he’d put into the walls hadn’t been taken with all Jackson’s stuff—the magical safety-net righted him back onto the stool and Stiles was glad the counter was there between him and the Alpha.

He couldn’t understand how he’d forgotten that Jackson got that out-of-the-blue transfer to the other side of the country. Well, he could, but he couldn’t figure out how he was going to explain to hot-and-murderous-red-eyes that his magic sometimes fucked with his memory if there was tequila involved.  

The Alpha was still glaring, but hadn’t moved, so Stiles decided he should probably try to speak again, before the guy did come closer.

“I’m,” Stiles swallowed as the Alpha wrinkled his nose. Morning-after-tequila breath was likely not an attractive thing to such a sensitive scent organ. “I’m your upstairs-neighbour, and I seem to have made what I’m hoping isn’t actually a fatal error.” One of the eyebrows dropped, just slightly. Stiles’ brain declared that a good sign. “Full disclosure. I’m a Spark. I set up the wards on this place for the previous tenant. We’ve known each other since kindergarten. I’ve been breaking in on every other Sunday morning for breakfast for a couple of years. The amount I drank last night,” the ‘wolf’s nostrils flared again, “must have short-circuited my brain? I honestly forgot there was no Jackson here to eat my happy-face pancakes and drool over my hash browns anymore.”

The Alpha’s stomach made a very distinct noise, and his eyes faded from red to something Stiles wished he could describe. The guy glanced at his stomach and back up again, a look of betrayal pinking his cheeks. He breathed in quickly and seemed to regain his composure, saying with a stone-like face, “It’s your magic in the walls.”

That was possibly, Stiles thought, supposed to be a question. He should at least make an attempt to answer it.

“Yes. Wards. It’s what I do for a living. I can have them removed for you?” It was not something he should be doing after someone moved into a place, it usually had to happen before someone moved in, or they wouldn’t be able to stay in the apartment or house. That, well. That confused Stiles enough that he felt his brain starting to try to claw its way out from underneath the remaining fog of the alcohol.

If the Alpha hadn’t had the old wards removed, he shouldn’t be able to be here. If he had had them removed and replaced, then Stiles shouldn’t have been able to break in.

Stiles reached out with his magic again. They were definitely still his wards, and they hadn’t been altered. The Alpha huffed and Stiles realized that he must have his drunk thinky-face on.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” The Alpha looked far too amused for Stiles’ liking. If the wards on this place had failed and Stiles couldn’t feel that, then he had a major, major problem. “Hey,” the guy had taken a step closer and was waving a hand in Stiles’ direction. His nostrils were flaring in and out. “Breathe. I’m not going to hurt you, and there is nothing wrong with your wards.”

That snapped Stiles out of it, but not enough to form a coherent sentence. “But—”

“Jackson Whittemore is my cousin. He was born human, and then bitten by my Alpha mother.” He paused a few moments, possibly to let that sink in, then restated, “We share both our bloodline and biteline. That’s why your wards haven’t caused me any problems.”  

This time Stiles’ brain caught up with what was being said. He breathed out a sigh of relief and decided not to dwell on the fact that the Alpha’s nose screwed up again. Instead, Stiles decided he should probably introduce himself.

“I’m Stiles Stilinski.” He swallowed and figured that he should try to exit, stage-left, as quickly as he could. He let his mouth move as quickly as it would. “I’m very sorry for breaking into your apartment, and I promise I won’t do it again. I made pancake batter and cheesy-hash browns. The spell on the pancakes is benevolent, I swear. The potato should be fried in a mixture of butter and olive oil or they won’t taste right. I’ll replace everything, I promise.” He glanced back at the fridge. “I will need to know where to buy that cheese, though, ‘cause I have no idea.”

“You made hash browns with  _Cacio Bufala_?” The Alpha, who Stiles still didn’t know the name of, blinked like a stoned owl. He didn’t actually look angry, though, just incredulous.

“I,” Stiles hoped his smile looked sincere, not snarky. “Yes?”

The guy laughed, and Stiles really, really wanted to know his name now. He had the most amazing smile, and his eye were lit up with something other than the Alpha power they’d had before. The fact that the man was basically naked wasn’t helping any—chiselled abs and power-house thighs and a thick treasure trail and lickable clavicles, and that was all without thinking about the dude’s face. Any moment now the guy was going to smell Stiles’ arousal over the stink of his morning-after-tequila breath. The guy twisted around as he reached for another one of the blinds and shit.

The tattoo on the guy’s back. Jackson’s Alpha was Talia Hale. Talia Hale only had one son. Stiles’ brain was definitely in danger of exploding. The man in front of him was pretty famous. He was an Alpha because he had, at the age of fourteen, ripped out the throat of the guy who’d tried to assault his older sister. Stiles was, quite possibly, lucky to be alive. Then again, the traitorous part of his brain supplied, Jackson always maintained that his cousin was a fluff-ball in disguise, once you got to know him. Stiles always assumed that Jackson was down-talking the guy ‘cause he was jealous of his cheekbones or something.

The Alpha turned back and sniffed again just as the coffee machine beeped that it was ready. He flicked his eyes down over Stiles’ stale clubbing outfit and back up, hovering a moment over Stiles’ neck. “I’m going to get you a cup of wake-up coffee, and then you are going to make me pancakes and absurdly expensive hash browns, and once we’re eating you can tell me more about the wards. If the food’s good enough, I won’t have you spell yourself out of them.”

Stiles nodded and managed to squeak out, “Deal.”

“I’m Derek, by the way.”

**♠**

**Author's Note:**

> Like to prompt me? [Prompt Me or Tempt Me](https://inkandblade.tumblr.com/ask) (please read [this](https://inkandblade.tumblr.com/post/169568857731/inkandblade-a-long-time-ago-ie-the-early-2000s) for guidelines beforehand).
> 
> Expensive cheese name brazenly lifted from a [Mental Floss article](http://mentalfloss.com/article/63844/15-worlds-most-expensive-cheeses).
> 
>  
> 
> _Though I'm fine with people wanting to create most fanworks [art, podfic, fanmix, translations] of this story, I'd prefer that no direct "sequel" be written as I have my own planned (eventually). Thank you._


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